


elasticity (or the one time kitayama’s econ degree was useful)

by thunderylee



Category: Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: Bondage, Canon Universe, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Threesome, member love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2019-01-16 21:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: In a competitive market, the only way to stay ahead is to find your niche. Kitayama is still looking for his.





	elasticity (or the one time kitayama’s econ degree was useful)

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck. written for je-holiday 2012.

With all of the drama filming and single promotions and not paying attention, Kitayama doesn’t notice that his bed has been awfully empty lately until his mother points it out.

“I haven’t seen any of your friends for a while, Hiro,” she says calmly as she drops off his laundry. “Usually this place is littered with pretty boys. Does this mean you have a girlfriend?”

“No, Mom, I don’t have a girlfriend,” Kitayama mutters, ignoring the implication of her question. “Everyone has just been too busy to hang out, I guess.”

“Or they found someone they like better,” Kita-mama teases, and Kitayama just slumps against the refrigerator because it’s too early to roll his eyes.

“Maybe,” he replies, unbothered.

“Are you okay with that?” his mother asks him. “Being second best?”

Kitayama inhales sharply, his nerves bristling a little. “When you put it like that…”

“That’s my boy,” she says, whacking him on the shoulder harder than any man has hit him before. “Do whatever it takes to come out on top. Or bottom, whichever.”

“ _Mom_.”

Kita-mama just smiles. “You’re smart enough to win them back, Hiro. If you can graduate from university, you can do anything.” She hugs him around the shoulders, not having to stretch much to reach him, and he is still trying to figure out if he was just insulted by his own mother when she adds, “I am so glad you weren’t born a girl.”

“So am I,” he replies, wondering if other people think he’s as weird as he thinks she is right now.

“Oh well,” she says brightly with a shrug. “At least there’s not a chance of anyone getting pregnant. See you next Sunday.”

He blinks as she leaves, debating whether to bang his head against the wall or not. In the end, it’s not worth the effort, let alone the resulting pain, so he just goes back to bed, suddenly very aware of his large, empty mattress.

He doesn’t say this out loud, because he’s not Tamamori, but he promises to make it bounce again soon enough.

*

Kitayama becomes much more invested in this competition when he learns who exactly has acquired his bed companions. He really should have known from the start, because it’s the same person he’s been competing with for basically everything else in the past decade, only this time it’s personal.

He actually finds out from Nikaido, because Nikaido is as subtle as a porno and the biggest gossip whore in the agency. Though in this instance he has first-hand experience—literally.

“Don’t take it personally, Mitsu,” Nikaido tells him, and Kitayama notices the casual, _equal_ way Nikaido says his name. “He’s convenient.”

“Convenient,” Kitayama repeats, folding his arms, unimpressed. “How could it possibly be any easier to go to him? I have my own apartment!”

Nikaido shrugs. “You don’t really do anything.”

“Neither does he!” Kitayama argues. “I know that just as well as you do.”

“I don’t know,” Nikaido says thoughtfully, frowning as he presumably tries to come up with a better difference. “It just doesn’t feel like work with him. With you, it’s like a full day of manual labor. In the sun.”

Kitayama’s too busy gaping to respond, his mouth only closing when Nikaido pats him on the arm.

“Aw, don’t be like that. Kenpi and I will come see you this weekend, okay? It won’t be as bad if there are three of us.”

“I don’t want your pity sandwich,” Kitayama says crossly. “I will earn you back on my own.”

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves, a plan already formulating in his mind as he approaches his Number One Enemy with a smirk. “You’re going down, Fujigaya.”

“What, right here?” Fujigaya replies, glancing around. “That’s a little risky, Mitsu.”

“That’s not what I—” Kitayama stops short, glaring as Fujigaya snickers. “You stole my bed warmers!”

“It’s not stealing if they willingly come to me,” Fujigaya says airily. “Besides, it’s not like I’m hoarding them. God knows I can’t handle them all—there is only one of me, you know. We can share. Management has been on us to work together more, right?”

“I am not sharing anyone with you,” Kitayama growls, then lights up as an idea starts to grow in his mind. “I mean, I guess that would be okay. In the name of camaraderie and all.”

Fujigaya eyes him contemplatively, then lifts his eyebrows with a dirty smile. “Come to Watta’s tonight. I’ll make sure the door is unlocked, but be quiet when you let yourself in. It’ll be better if he doesn’t know you’re there at first.”

“Freak,” Kitayama says, and Fujigaya just shrugs. “Fine.”

“Be sure to bring your game,” Fujigaya tells him. “Just because I’m willing to share doesn’t mean I’m willing to _lose_.”

Kitayama doesn’t need any game. What he needs is a competitive advantage.

*

Fujigaya hadn’t told him what time to arrive, but the sounds he hears from Yokoo’s bedroom upon walking through the front door tell him he’s right on time. Stepping carefully as instructed, Kitayama creeps down the hallway and finds that the door is cracked enough for him to see inside, where he enjoys the sight of Fujigaya arching beneath Yokoo for a few seconds under the pretense of spying on the competition.

As disturbing as it is to think about this as he’s getting turned on, his mother had made a valid point by bringing up his university degree. He hadn’t thought that economics would ever apply to his personal life until right now. When someone is offering the exact same services as you, you have to find something unique to keep your clients coming back—a niche, he remembers. Kitayama watches Fujigaya carefully, looking for any kind of void to fill. Something Fujigaya doesn’t do that Kitayama will.

He’s just as lazy, Kitayama notes as Fujigaya makes no effort to do anything other than lay there and moan. Possibly he whines more, though Yokoo probably likes that. Yokoo’s one of those guys who likes to feel needed, which translates to a lot of begging and pleading in the bedroom. And impatience, Kitayama adds as Fujigaya keeps grabbing for Yokoo’s cock and Yokoo pulls back just enough to be out of reach.

Meets consumer-specific demands, check. As being whiny and impatient is one of Fujigaya’s specialties, Kitayama is at a loss for what he can do to make Yokoo prefer him. Sure, he’s better looking than Fujigaya, but that doesn’t really matter once your eyes are closed. It’s all about making stars burst and toes curl.

Fujigaya sees him first, looking like the debauched whore he is with his hair splayed all over Yokoo’s pillow and his mouth parted for the noises that won’t stop. His knees are held up by his arms and he’s rocking up against Yokoo’s fingers—three, if Kitayama’s eyes serve him right. Seems like he has shown up at the perfect time.

Done with observing, Kitayama starts to pull his shirt over his head, then remembers that Yokoo prefers to do the undressing himself. Slowly he crawls onto the bed and announces his presence with a chaste kiss to Yokoo’s shoulder blade, feeling Yokoo jump as Kitayama wraps his arms around Yokoo’s thin waist from behind.

“Jesus, Hiromitsu, you scared me,” Yokoo says without turning around, and Kitayama feels smug that his embrace is that recognizable. Then again, if anyone could blindly identify the other Kisumai members solely by touch, it would be Yokoo. “What are you even doing here?”

“Competing,” Kitayama answers simply, reaching for Yokoo’s chin to pull him back into a kiss. It only takes a few seconds of Kitayama’s lips and tongue accosting his before Yokoo’s fully on board, turning to strip him as expected. They break apart long enough to pull Kitayama’s shirt over his head, then Yokoo takes over the kiss and Kitayama falls helpless to Yokoo’s much welcome force.

“Hey,” Fujigaya says, poking them both with his feet, which are still in the air. “Don’t leave me out.”

Yokoo shuts him up with his fingers, and Kitayama clings to Yokoo more tightly than he normally would to show how much he wants him. Yokoo purrs approvingly against his tongue, reaching down to wrap his other hand around Kitayama’s erection. Belatedly Kitayama realizes that Yokoo’s rolling a condom onto him, giving him a few more tugs before turning him to face Fujigaya.

“You like the middle, right?” Yokoo whispers in his ear, and Kitayama’s nerves singe at the possibility of having them both at once. “Taisuke loves your cock, too, though he won’t admit it.”

“Shut up,” Fujigaya grumbles, his cheeks tinting even redder, and Kitayama doesn’t wait for the invitation to take him. This is about as proactive as he gets, nudging Yokoo’s wrist out of the way before pushing right into Fujigaya and gasping at the way Fujigaya’s body grips him, pleased with the noises that spill from Fujigaya’s lips because of _him_.

Kitayama starts to say something cocky, but then Yokoo’s fingers are stretching _him_ and he drops his head to Fujigaya’s chest, pressing his forehead against the sweaty skin. One of Fujigaya’s hands threads through his hair, twisting lightly and Kitayama had forgotten how good that feels until right now. Fujigaya’s like a sex elephant, consistently remembering who likes what no matter how long it’s been or how far gone he is. Maybe that’s _his_ niche, Kitayama realizes dejectedly, which is something Kitayama definitely can’t compete with. He can barely remember his own name in the heat of the moment.

There has to be _something_ he can do better than Fujigaya, he thinks as he takes out his frustration on said person’s ass. Fujigaya loves it, his fingers tightening in Kitayama’s hair with each thrust and making Kitayama more reluctant to think at all. He’s responsive enough to satisfy Yokoo, anyway, his body arching involuntarily when Yokoo touches the right spot inside him. He’s more than ready, but Yokoo keeps going until Kitayama’s ready to crawl out of his own skin with need.

“Fuck, Watta,” Kitayama groans, his voice deeper than usual; Fujigaya’s now fisting his hair as he actively pushes back against Kitayama’s cock pounding into him.

“Is that an order, Leader?” Yokoo teases, and Kitayama would roll his eyes if he could keep them open long enough.

“Please,” he says instead, because he can beg with the best of them. “I want to feel you inside me, Watta. Please fuck me hard.”

Yokoo hums as he kneels behind Kitayama and drapes himself over Kitayama’s back, his mouth latching onto Kitayama’s neck. “That sounds even better coming from you.”

If Kitayama had any kind of self-control right now, he’d gloat at one-upping Fujigaya for once, but Yokoo replaces his fingers with his cock and all Kitayama can do is stay hard as Yokoo fucks him right into Fujigaya. Yokoo hadn’t been kidding—Kitayama favors this position the most, solely because he doesn’t have to do anything. He’s a writhing mess of moans as he rocks back and forth between the two from a force that is not his own, and he honestly doesn’t understand why these guys aren’t banging down his door to bang _him_. He’s the ideal third, at the very least.

Fujigaya refuses to say his name, but Kitayama hears it in the way he gasps and clutches onto him. His scalp is going to be sore tomorrow, stinging already as it heightens his arousal even more. Fujigaya’s other hand scratches nails down the back of his thigh and Kitayama comes back to life, pushing back against Yokoo to take him in deeper before snapping forward into Fujigaya.

“God, Hiromitsu, I miss your ass,” Yokoo hisses into Kitayama’s neck, his words followed by a small scrape of his teeth that has Kitayama jerking between them. “You should come join us more often.”

That’s not exactly the result Kitayama wanted, and Fujigaya’s victorious chuckle has Kitayama fucking him harder, quickly reaching his breaking point. Yokoo must feel it because he changes his angle, hitting Kitayama right where he wants it and pushing a hand between them to wrap around Fujigaya’s cock. Fujigaya’s moan is nearly deafening as all three of them race for the finish, Fujigaya getting there first and starting the domino effect of orgasms that leaves Kitayama incapable of anything that doesn’t involve breathing—and barely that.

“I don’t know what you two are competing for _this_ time,” Yokoo wheezes, “but please continue.”

Kitayama ends up on his back as Fujigaya shoves him off, and the next thing he knows, Yokoo’s poking him in the nose and wishing him good-night. Kitayama smiles sleepily until he peeks open one eye to see Fujigaya between them, smirking as Yokoo spoons him.

_You tried_ , Fujigaya mouths, and Kitayama’s thigh twitches as he thinks about kicking him.

He’s technically right, though; this whole attempt to obtain information by observing Fujigaya in his natural habitat was a complete bust. He refuses to share the others— _his_ members—with Fujigaya forever, regardless of how much Fujigaya secretly loves his cock, so he decides to work a little harder to find his niche to make them prefer him again.

Later, he amends as he drifts back to sleep.

*

“So I hear you’re trying to compete with Gaya for the rest of us,” Tamamori greets him the next time they’re pushed together for a frontman photoshoot. “You’re going about it all wrong.”

To his credit, Fujigaya pretends not to pay attention, though whatever he’s reading cannot possibly make him grin that much. Kitayama just leans back in his ridiculously tight pants and four patterned scarves, eyeing Tamamori as he debates blowing him off or just blowing him.

One look at Tamamori’s own tight pants tell him that the latter option would take more effort than it’s worth, but something about Tamamori’s tone has him curious. “And what exactly am I doing wrong?”

Tamamori sighs like he has the hardest life on the planet. “We already know you’re a good lay, Mitsu. That’s not what you need to focus on.”

“It’s not?” Kitayama asks despite himself. “But Nika said—”

“Look, I can only speak for myself and Miyacchi,” Tamamori cuts him off, clearly already bored with the conversation. “For us, it’s what happens _before_ that. Anyone will fuck you once they’re in bed with you. You have to make us want to actually take you there, which hasn’t been the case lately, sorry to say.”

Now Fujigaya starts whistling, stretching his arms over his head, and Kitayama finds great joy in kicking his chair enough to disrupt his balance. “Are you saying I’m not _sexy_?”

“Not exactly,” Tamamori replies. “You’re sexy enough, I suppose, but at the end of the day, I’m more attracted to Gaya.”

“That hurts, Tama-chan,” Kitayama says with a pout.

Tamamori shrugs. “Just speaking the truth. But if you really want us to choose you over him, you’ll have to change your approach. Nobody wants to work hard for something that’s more easily obtainable from someone else, you know.”

Blinking, Kitayama recalls the most important part of providing a service—advertising. Without advertising, people don’t know what you have to offer. Particularly in the service industry, you don’t have a tangible product to market; you _are_ the product. Kitayama huffs as he considers giving his “product” a total redesign. He could just start going to them first, but that defeats the whole purpose. Fujigaya doesn’t have to solicit anyone, so neither should he.

“That’s why I need a niche,” he thinks out loud.

Tamamori frowns. “A what?”

“Never mind,” Kitayama tells him. “Thanks for the advice.”

“No problem.” Tamamori slings his arm around Kitayama’s shoulders, leaning down to add in a voice low enough for just Kitayama to hear, “Practice on Miyacchi. He gets turned on when the wind blows the right way.”

Tamamori lets him go and they pose for their shoot. When they reunite with the back four, Kitayama catches Miyata’s eye and lets his gaze linger just a bit too long, then licks his lips a little slower than he normally would. The next time he glances over, Miyata’s cheeks are the faintest tint of pink and Kitayama feels quite proud of himself. He stretches next, purposely reaching as far over his head as he can so that his shirt rides up in the front, and now he has both Miyata _and_ Senga’s attention.

Then Fujigaya unwraps a sucker and nonchalantly sucks on it, swirling his tongue around the small cherry ball as he appears bored to the world, and the next time Kitayama looks over at the kouhai, all fucking four of them have their eyes locked on Fujigaya. More specifically his mouth, and the longer Kitayama watches, the more entranced he becomes as well.

Nikaido and Senga get to Fujigaya first, which has Tamamori hugging Kitayama from behind again. “You did well enough. We’ll be by after dinner.”

“Enjoy my sloppy seconds,” Fujigaya hisses on his way out, his evening companions in tow, and Tamamori pats Kitayama comfortingly on the shoulder.

Yokoo shakes his head at all of them. “ _This_ is what you’re competing over? Oh, Hiromitsu, it doesn’t matter who chooses who first. There’s enough of us to go around.”

“It matters to me,” Kitayama says stubbornly, “when my bed is empty because of him.”

“If your bed is empty, he has nothing to do with it,” Yokoo points out. “Personally, I stopped coming over when you kept falling asleep on me. As cute as your sleeping face is, I’d rather not see it in the middle of sex.”

“I was filming a _drama_ —” Kitayama starts.

“So was Taisuke,” Yokoo says, and Kitayama falls silent.

“I honestly thought you had gotten bored with us,” Tamamori chimes in. “You were hardly responsive when we would come over before. It felt like we were bothering you.”

“What? No,” Kitayama rushes to say, feeling sheepish as he scratches his head. “I’m sorry if it seemed that way, but I really do like being with you guys. _All_ of you.”

“Make it up to us tonight,” Tamamori says, his breath tickling Kitayama’s ear as he leans in again. “And before you think we’re just coming to you because Gaya’s busy, look over at Miyacchi.”

Kitayama does as instructed and catches Miyata staring at him, feeling much better about this whole situation when Miyata immediately looks away and pretends to fumble with his phone.

“He was never really sold on Gaya’s…openness,” Tamamori goes on. “He likes things more subtle and less in-your-face. Though I would have never equated you with innocence before, that little tease earlier put him right in your favor. He actually asked me if we could spend the night with you before I could tell him anything about your campaign.”

Miyata’s strange tastes are something to be thankful for, at least. Maybe this could be Kitayama’s niche—the subtle and innocent one. He almost laughs out loud at the thought, because he is anything but, and besides it only seems to work with Miyata. That’s more of Tamamori’s niche, anyway, which explains their entire relationship.

“Okay,” Kitayama agrees, even though it doesn’t count as a win at all, because it’s better than being alone.

*

Miyata attacks Kitayama the minute he answers the door, leaving Tamamori amused as Kitayama finds himself backed up against his own wall. But the lips that cover his are soft and gentle, in complete contrast to Miyata’s crushing embrace.

“He missed you,” Tamamori says needlessly, drifting his fingers along the back of Kitayama’s neck to give him a sharp shiver, which has him grabbing Miyata by the waist and pulling him closer.

“I’m glad _someone_ prefers me,” Kitayama mumbles, and Miyata kisses him harder as he mindlessly kicks off his shoes and pulls Kitayama through his own living room. Kitayama suspects that Tamamori is leading them but doesn’t want to stop to check, falling victim to Miyata’s kisses that get even hotter when Kitayama’s back hits the mattress.

Miyata is an incredibly attentive lover, putting all of himself into every move, every touch. His fingers are like electrical currents on Kitayama’s skin, surging through the nerves of Kitayama’s abdomen and chest as he inches up Kitayama’s shirt. Helpfully Kitayama lifts his arms and Miyata breaks their kiss to pull off both of their shirts, just as eager as Kitayama remembers.

He doesn’t return to Kitayama’s mouth right away, dropping his head to Kitayama’s neck and throat as Kitayama leans back to give him more space to cover. Kitayama’s own head tilts to the side, where he sees Tamamori curled up in the vanity chair, knees pulled to his chest and eyes staring at them.

“Tama-chan,” Kitayama gasps as he reaches out for him, his arm dangling off the end of the bed. “Why are you so far away?”

“He wants to watch this time,” Miyata answers instead, his voice rich and deep as it presses into Kitayama’s skin, and Kitayama squirms a little from the vibrations. “He’ll join when he’s ready.”

“Okay,” Kitayama says, highly distracted from the combination of Miyata’s lips and fingers, neither of which have even touched him anywhere indecent yet. “I missed you, too, Miyacchi.”

Miyata groans low in his throat, which Kitayama feels all the way to the tips of his fingers as Miyata urges Kitayama’s head back towards him and captures his mouth again. This time he lines up their bodies and Kitayama gasps at the first grind down. Miyata’s hips roll like he’s fucking and the association has Kitayama throbbing deep inside for it, his legs falling open to wrap around Miyata’s in a blatant invitation, which is wholly understood judging by the growl Miyata emits right on Kitayama’s lips.

“Don’t rush me,” Miyata hisses. “Gaya rushed me.”

That has Kitayama falling still, lifting his hands to Miyata’s back to feel the muscles under his fingers, gripping them a little to calm down. Miyata seems to know what Kitayama is doing, smiling as he goes back to kissing him slow and deep, his own hands sliding down Kitayama’s sides to his waist. Kitayama’s body arches and shudders beyond his control, rocking up against Miyata with faint moans that die on Miyata’s tongue.

Miyata traces the flesh of Kitayama’s waist over and over until every breath gives Kitayama tingles, everything within him yearning for more. He roams Miyata’s back and chest, straining to hear every gasp and feel every jerk to refamiliarize himself with Miyata’s body. Fujigaya may be a sex elephant, but there’s something to be said about making new discoveries over and over again, like it’s the first time every time. Feeling out all of Miyata’s sensitive spots makes Miyata rock against him harder, breathing harshly through his nose as the world starts to move a little bit faster.

A moan sounds from across the room and they both fall out of each other’s mouths, turning to focus on Tamamori biting his lip with his hand resting on the noticeable bulge in his pants, looking like it pains him to hold back. His eyes are dark and his face is pink, and he jerks when he sees them staring.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Miyata gasps, right in Kitayama’s ear, and Kitayama arches as the words go straight to his cock. “I can’t decide if I want him over here or if I want to watch him over there.”

“Both?” Kitayama suggests. “He’s young—he can bounce back fast.”

“That’s why you’re the leader,” Miyata says with a hint of amusement, and Kitayama can’t even be annoyed with Miyata’s voice tickling his insides. “Enjoying yourself, Yuuta?”

Tamamori nods, squeezing himself in response. The mere action has Kitayama pushing up against Miyata like it’s a direct reaction, which pulls a low moan from Miyata’s throat as he grinds back. Kitayama can feel how hard he is and knows that they’re both reaching their limits, Miyata physically trembling from the force of his own arousal.

“Let me hear you,” Miyata says to Tamamori, and Tamamori releases a faint noise along with his bottom lip. “Do we look good together?”

Tamamori nods again, followed by a much louder moan as he pushes his palm flat against the outline of his erection. “Toshiya…”

“It’s okay,” Miyata tells him, “you can do it. We want to watch you, too.”

Like he’d just been waiting for the word, Tamamori nearly rips open his pants and pulls out his cock, wrapping his fingers around it and pulling himself off. Kitayama can’t tear his eyes away from Tamamori’s face, where he’s fighting to keep his eyes open as a steady stream of noises spill from his lips with each breath. This definitely rates up there as one of the hottest things Kitayama’s ever seen in his life.

“Isn’t he gorgeous, Mitsu?” Miyata asks, mouthing the shell of Kitayama’s ear and making him squirm even more.

“He is,” Kitayama gets out, his voice gravelly as he tries to remember how to speak.

“Is there something you’d like us to do?” Miyata calls over, and Kitayama’s heart beats in anticipation for actually being touched sometime soon.

“You—” Tamamori starts, interrupting himself with a loud moan. “Him. In your mouth.”

Kitayama understands that completely, groaning his approval as Miyata chuckles and says, “As you wish.”

Now Miyata’s kissing his way down Kitayama’s chest with a purpose, his fingers swiftly opening Kitayama’s pants as Kitayama tries not to thrust up into his face. He’s not used to waiting this long and for as good as it feels, he’s just as desperate. Miyata stares up at him through a fringe of bangs as he tugs down Kitayama’s pants and boxers, leaving him naked and trembling beneath him.

The smile Miyata flashes him is totally out of place, but then it’s slowly lowering around his cock and Kitayama’s head rolls back onto his pillow. There’s no way he can hold himself up to watch Miyata, but that’s just as well since Tamamori’s just as appealing to look at. He’s fisting himself faster than Kitayama would be able to handle, everything about his flushed, breathless demeanor saying that he intends to finish just like this right in front of them.

“Shit,” Kitayama gasps, reaching down to brush Miyata’s hair out of his face. He tries to be gentle, but he still ends up pulling on it a little, and Miyata’s wince feels nicer than it should. “Sorry, Miyacchi. Feels good.”

Miyata takes him in further, until Kitayama feels resistance and arches from the pressure. Then Miyata starts to move and it’s entirely too slow to get him off, but it still sends jolts of pleasure throughout his entire body. Low moans escape with each exhale and Kitayama’s hips move on their own, rocking up in tandem until Miyata pins him down with both hands.

“Sorry,” Kitayama says again. “I can’t—”

The rest of his words morph into something incomprehensible as Miyata pulls back and licks the head, flicking his tongue along the knot at the base and dipping into the slit. Kitayama wants to come so bad that he can taste it, his thighs shaking from the force of his denial that he knows Miyata can feel.

Tamamori is close, muttering filthy swear words mixed with “yeah” as he pushes up into his own hand, his eyes on Miyata bobbing up and down on Kitayama’s cock. _Excruciatingly slow_ , Kitayama adds as the sting gets stronger with each of Tamamori’s strokes, until Tamamori arches and comes over his fingers and Kitayama lets out a loud whine as he isn’t allowed to follow.

“Miyacchi,” he gasps. “Please.”

He’d thought it would be obvious that he wanted Miyata to go faster, or at the very least _continue_ , but Miyata pulls all the way off and shows no remorse to Kitayama’s squawk of incredulity. But instead of moving back up Kitayama’s body, he moves _down_ , gently urging apart his thighs and Kitayama has a brief second of confusion before he feels that tongue dipping behind his balls.

“Oh my god,” Kitayama says, arching completely off of the bed as Miyata licks his way inside him. “ _Miyacchi_.”

The bed dips with added weight as something warm dribbles between Kitayama’s legs, and Kitayama looks up to see Tamamori kneeling next to him, still red-faced from his orgasm and holding a small pink bottle in his hand.

“Watermelon flavored,” Tamamori explains. “It’s his favorite.”

Miyata cosigns this statement with a hum, which vibrates Kitayama in the most sensitive place and he nearly jumps out of his own skin. “Come here,” is all he says, reaching for Tamamori’s arm and using all of his pent-up energy to pull Tamamori down alongside him.

A light, airy laugh prefaces Tamamori’s fall and Kitayama still feels it when he presses their lips together, instantly urging Tamamori’s apart and seeking out his tongue. Tamamori’s a lazy kisser, matched well with Miyata’s intensity, and right now he fits with Kitayama whose only outlet is this kiss. Tamamori’s long arms slide around Kitayama’s neck as Kitayama takes out his frustration on Tamamori’s mouth, shuddering even more when Tamamori moans softly.

Miyata’s tongue is moving at least twice as fast as he’s done anything else tonight, joined by a single finger that sends Kitayama’s body into a frenzy. He doesn’t know how much more of this he can take; he’s already in danger of coming the second anything touches his cock, even just a puff of air. Right now he thinks he could come untouched, which becomes more likely as Miyata twists in a second finger and moves them around until he finds Kitayama’s spot.

Tamamori’s mouth does nothing to muffle his moan, which is practically a scream as Kitayama jerks uncontrollably. “Make him do something,” he hisses to Tamamori, who chuckles as he reaches down to cradle Miyata’s head and stroke his hair.

“Toshi,” Tamamori says without pulling away from Kitayama’s lips. “I think Mitsu wants you to touch him.”

“I bet he does,” Miyata replies, his voice bringing forth even more shudders as he licks around his fingers, slipping in a third. “I have to say, he lasted much longer than I thought he would.”

“Longer than Fujigaya, right?” Kitayama asks hopefully, his voice strained and laced with wheezes.

Tamamori rolls his eyes. “Oh please, he didn’t even make it to the blowjob. That one has no patience.”

“You say that like _you_ have any,” Miyata taunts, and Tamamori just shrugs as Miyata sits up and wipes his mouth. Kitayama blinks and they’re kissing, Tamamori licking the excess lube from Miyata’s face and Kitayama can’t decide whether he’s disgusted or even more turned on by it.

Miyata’s fingers prod him easily, and Kitayama’s about to make a quip about how Miyata’s not big enough to warrant anymore than three when he pulls them out and rolls Kitayama over onto his stomach. Balancing is beyond the realm of Kitayama’s coordination right now and he lands on his face, which has the other two laughing gently as Tamamori pulls him up by the shoulders in time for him to cry out when Miyata fingers him even deeper than before.

“Oh fuck,” is all Kitayama can say, his body arching like a cat in heat and pushing back as fast as he can. “Please, please, please fuck me, Miyacchi, please.”

The begging is wasted on Miyata, but Kitayama hadn’t been overdoing it on purpose. There is some shifting around and crinkling of latex, then the blunt head of Miyata’s cock is inching inside him and Kitayama’s mouth falls open with silent moans.

“You look so good like this,” Tamamori tells him, and Kitayama opens his eyes to find Tamamori kneeling in front of him, his pants around his knees and reborn erection in his hand. “You’d look even better with your lips around me.”

Kitayama just leans his head down, letting Tamamori feed the length into his mouth as Miyata bottoms out inside him. Miyata’s hands grasp Kitayama’s hips roughly, a deep groan rumbling through them both as he starts to move. His first thrust sends Kitayama halfway down Tamamori’s cock, which suppresses his moans as Miyata brings him closer to a release he can’t have yet.

“Mm, Mitsu,” Tamamori mumbles, his fingers gently combing through Kitayama’s hair. “I might have missed you a little bit, too.”

Even bent over between the two of them like this, the words pang in Kitayama’s heart and he looks up at Tamamori, silently replying the same. Tamamori smiles down at him, stroking his hair some more until Miyata speeds up and Tamamori’s fingers tighten.

“Oh, he likes that,” Miyata hisses, and Tamamori squeezes his fist so hard that he nearly pulls Kitayama’s hair right out of his head. “ _Fuck_ , Mitsu.”

There is so much pressure building inside Kitayama that all he can do is scream, which has Tamamori rocking into the vibrations and scrunching Kitayama’s hair some more. “Gonna—” is as far as he gets, but Kitayama feels it coming and Miyata pulls him back enough to keep him from choking.

Tamamori tastes good, bitter and sweet at the same time, and Kitayama licks his lips when Tamamori’s cock softens and falls from them. His face is even more flushed than before as he flops onto his side, closely followed by Kitayama as his arms give out, once again landing on his face. Tamamori’s fingers return to his hair, now damp with sweat, alternating between soft strokes and tight twists as Miyata fucks him hard and slow.

“Do you think he can come like this?” Tamamori asks, talking about Kitayama like he’s not even there, and Kitayama kind of feels like he’s not there with as far gone as he is. “I don’t think he’s done that before.”

“We’ve never tried,” Miyata says breathlessly, and suddenly his angle changes. “Let’s find out.”

Kitayama’s noises are much louder now that they’re not restrained, ending his neighbors’ three-month streak of peace, but Tamamori doesn’t even cringe as he watches Kitayama’s face, hand poised in Kitayama’s hair. “Ready?”

“ _Now_ ,” Miyata chokes out, aiming right for Kitayama’s spot at the exact same second Tamamori yanks his hair, and for a few seconds Kitayama knows nothing but a fifty-fifty mix of pleasure and pain until Miyata cries out and falls still behind him.

His whole body is shaking as Miyata quickly rolls him onto his side, finding him still hard and wrapping a hand around him. Tamamori joins him and they both pull him off, Kitayama’s voice reaching dangerous levels of harsh considering he’s one of the group’s main singers, but it’s short-lived as his body seems confused at being allowed release before finally achieving it.

Kitayama comes so hard that he blacks out, because the next thing he knows is Miyata curled up behind him while Tamamori snuggles from the front, all three of them moderately clean and sparingly dressed.

“It lives,” Miyata jokes, presumably sensing him stir, and Kitayama makes the mistake of stretching. _Everything_ is sore and his whine is pitiful enough for Tamamori to close the minimal distance between them and press their lips together, effectively silencing him.

“Did I win this time?” Kitayama asks a few kisses later. “That _had_ to be better than Fujigaya. I mean, you said so yourself—”

“What I said was that it doesn’t matter what you do in bed,” Tamamori cuts him off, sounding tired and mildly irritated. “I’d still go to Gaya first.”

“You’re so mean,” Kitayama tells him.

“Consider it a half-win,” Miyata says into his hair, and Kitayama will take it.

*

“Where are we?” Senga asks carefully, peeking out from underneath his fedora like something on the wall is going to leap out and bite him.

“Craft store,” Kitayama answers, adjusting his black-rimmed glasses. “It wasn’t my first choice, but it will have what we need.”

Senga eyes the aisles of fabric and other materials. “Are we making our own costumes?”

“Oh god no,” Kitayama replies, and Senga sighs in relief. “We’re making bondage gear.”

“Say what?” Senga deadpans, looking around him in a completely different way now.

“Silk would be the most comfortable, don’t you think?” is Kitayama’s response, holding out a pretty green swirly design. “Or do we even want him to be comfortable?”

“Who exactly are we making this for?” Senga asks, though his big eyes tell Kitayama he already knows.

“It’s the right color, even,” Kitayama goes on, overlooking the question. “Touch it.”

Senga slowly reaches for the material, taking it between his fingers and rubbing lightly. “Feels nice.”

“Wouldn’t it feel even nicer around Nika’s wrists?” Kitayama asks, stepping closer so he can lower his voice. “Bunched and twisted as he struggles in them, cursing us for tying him up.”

“ _Us_?” Senga repeats, dropping the silk like it had suddenly caught fire.

“I bet Fujigaya’s never tied him up.” Kitayama folds his arms in satisfaction.

“For good reason,” Senga says pointedly. “He will _kill you_.”

“Not if it’s for you,” Kitayama tells him, and Senga’s mouth shuts. “Haven’t you ever thought about it before? Him just laying there, hands bound to the bedposts, helpless to your every whim.”

“I might have,” Senga admits, “but he would never do it. He told me himself that he doesn’t think he could stay still for that long.”

“That’s what the ties are for.” Kitayama grabs the swirly green silk for emphasis. “He won’t have a choice.”

“I don’t know…” Senga trails off in contemplative thought.

“That man will do anything you ask,” Kitayama says. “He loves you.”

“It’s not like that,” Senga says quickly. “We just play around like anyone else.”

“Yeah, okay, and Fujigaya and I are best friends,” Kitayama replies, pausing when Senga frowns. “Wait, you’re serious.”

“Yeah, I am.” Senga pulls a good yard of silk off of the roll. “Let’s do it.”

“What?” Kitayama turns to him in confusion. “You suddenly changed your mind.”

Senga cuts enough for two thick strips and follows one of the swirls with his finger. “I want to see if you’re right.”

*

With Nikaido, it’s about instant gratification and ease. Kitayama leaves his front door unlocked and lay naked in his bed, drifting the silk pieces up and down his body as he waits. It feels nice, teasing and tingling as he thinks about Nikaido being tied right here next to him while Senga ravishes him. Maybe Kitayama will take a leaf out of Tamamori’s book and just watch this time, reaching down to curl fingers around his hardening length at the thought.

That’s how Senga and Nikaido find him, both stopping dead in their tracks at the sight. It has to be pretty hot, Kitayama tells himself smugly. He bets Fujigaya doesn’t put on a show like this. That one can’t go very long without being touched or at the very least included. Kitayama wonders if these two have any kind of exhibitionist streak that would give him an advantage. This could totally be his niche. He could sit and watch people have sex all day.

Kitayama doesn’t bother with verbal greetings, just locks eyes with Nikaido and uses his free hand to gesture for them to come closer. He can almost see the arousal spread through Nikaido’s body, flashing in his eyes as he follows directions and crawls onto Kitayama’s bed. _Obediently_.

Nikaido crushes their mouths together and Kitayama lets him, his mind clouded by Nikaido’s attacking kiss that has him forgetting his plan for a moment. Then he feels a small touch to his arm and reaches out for Senga, pulling him close until lips press against his shoulder.

“Let’s play a game,” Kitayama whispers to Nikaido between kisses. “I tell Ken-chan what to do to you, and you have to do it no matter what.”

His sharp intake of breath is echoed, and Nikaido pointedly covers Kitayama’s hand on his cock with his own, leading Kitayama to reconsider his uninvolvement. “What will you do?”

“Watch,” Kitayama answers, feeling the shiver that courses through Nikaido. “And direct.”

“Follow the leader,” Senga jokes, and Kitayama just chuckles as Nikaido stares at him contemplatively.

“It’ll only be him doing anything,” Kitayama goes on as Nikaido slowly gives in. “He can choose not to do something I say, but he probably won’t want to.”

“Okay,” Nikaido agrees. “Let’s play.”

Reluctantly pulling out of Nikaido’s hold, Kitayama scoots to the side and gets comfortable. “First, Ken-chan is going to undress you. Not too fast, but don’t bore me either.”

Senga has absolutely no hesitation about reaching for the hem of Nikaido’s shirt, pulling it over his head and trailing fingers down Nikaido’s chest, which visibly shudders under his touch. Kitayama finds himself moderately jealous, repeating the actions on himself that neither of them notice with they way they’re wholly focused on the other. Those fingers reach Nikaido’s pants, which Senga swiftly opens and pushes down Nikaido’s legs, lightly scratching up the back of his thigh on the way back up. Nikaido jerks at that, then lifts his hips to allow Senga to push down his underwear, leaving him completely exposed to Senga’s wandering hands.

“Kiss him,” Kitayama orders, and Senga lunges forward to capture Nikaido’s lips. They kiss slowly, instantly licking into each other’s mouths as expected from Nikaido, and Kitayama almost laughs when Senga urges Nikaido’s hands above his head and traces the backs of his arms. “Now tie his wrists to the bedposts.”

Nikaido makes a protesting noise at that, but Senga’s already wrapping the green silk around his wrists and knotting it in no time. Kitayama’s a little impressed with their youngest’s speed, both of Nikaido’s hands restrained before he can even struggle properly.

“It’s okay, right?” Senga whispers softly, pulling back enough to look at Nikaido with soft eyes.

Nikaido’s chest visibly rises and falls with his sigh, then he nods. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

Both Senga and Kitayama smile at that, the former returning to Nikaido’s mouth while the latter starts touching himself more earnestly. It’s almost like they’re his own private porno movie, Kitayama thinks, as he watches Senga’s hands roam all over Nikaido’s body unrushed. He can tell Senga really likes seeing Nikaido like this, too, helpless to his control and squirming from his touch.

“Your turn, Ken-chan,” Kitayama says gently. “Strip for him, and be a tease about it.”

Immediately Senga leans back on his heels, straddling Nikaido’s thighs as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, taking his time pushing each button through its respective hole. Kitayama wonders if Senga took this into consideration when he got dressed this morning, because this is much hotter than just yanking a shirt over your head. When he has a low enough neckline, he brings his fingers to his neck and moves them around the exposed skin, continuing to pop the buttons one-handed as he dips under the material to touch more. He gets to where he can reach a nipple, arching with a faint moan that has Kitayama doing the same to himself.

“Fuck,” both Kitayama and Nikaido breathe, and Senga looks pleased as he unfastens the last button and shrugs the shirt off his shoulders. Then he pops the button of his pants and lifts his arms over his head in a stretch, which emphasizes his chest muscles and the prominent hip bones that view above the waistband, along with the bulge in his pants just underneath the open button.

Kitayama thinks that if this idol thing doesn’t work out, Senga could easily be a male stripper. Nikaido seems to be of a similar opinion, possibly just _his_ private stripper as Senga gracefully leans up to push off his pants and underwear. He looks even better naked, his cock jutting out from his body as he continues his erotic movements, making Kitayama grip himself tighter

“Kenpi,” Nikaido whines, twisting as he tries to break free of his binds. “Touch me.”

One single fingertip pokes Nikaido’s abdomen, which indents at the contact. “There,” Senga says, and Kitayama is kind of proud of him.

“That’s not what I—” Nikaido starts, but Senga cuts him off with a searing kiss and hovers over him as close as he can without making contact.

“I think you’ve got it from here,” Kitayama says needlessly, but Senga makes a noise of amusement as his fingers graze Nikaido’s cock just enough to pull a sharp moan from his throat.

The sight of them together is so hot that Kitayama has to slow down before this ends before it even really begins. He’d already laid out the lube and condoms and retrieves them now, placing them next to the oblivious pair after scooping some lube onto his own fingers. He has absolutely no shame in sliding his hand down past his cock and behind his balls, where he works himself open as Senga starts to do the same to Nikaido.

“Is this okay?” Senga whispers against Nikaido’s lips. “I know we don’t do it this way often, but—”

“Yes, yes, _god_ yes,” Nikaido replies, his body already rocking against Senga’s fingers as his knees lift to accommodate. His head falls to the side, levitated by his stretched arm. “Oh, but look at Mitsu.”

Senga turns his head and makes a low growling noise as he takes in the sight of Kitayama fingering himself. “You almost make me want to fuck _you_.”

“You’re fucking _me_ ,” Nikaido says firmly, more confident than someone who has no control of his hands should be, but Kitayama’s not about to argue with him.

“You should ride Nika instead,” Senga suggests, and Kitayama makes a face at doing all that work. “It’ll be okay, you can lean back against me and I’ll take care of everything.”

Sometimes Kitayama is grateful for these proactive kouhai, stretching himself with three fingers before rolling the short distance toward the other two. He rolls a condom on Nikaido, whom Senga enters unsheathed, and he catches them exchanging a stare so intimate that he feels out of place. Then the second passes and Senga’s grabbing for Kitayama to straddle Nikaido’s waist, the slow burn of Nikaido filling him up pulling a low groan from his lungs as he sits all the way down.

He feels Senga against his back, arms wrapping around his waist to rest on his hips. “Ready?” Senga whispers in his ear.

“ _Yes_ , fucking move already,” comes Nikaido’s strained voice while Kitayama just nods shakily.

Senga moves and stays true to his word, holding Kitayama firmly against his chest as he thrusts into Nikaido and guides Kitayama up and down. Soon Kitayama’s bouncing on his own, his back slick from the sweat of their efforts and sliding easily against Senga’s chest, those low groans in his ear while Nikaido moans openly from below. Kitayama tries to keep his eyes open to watch, because the sight of Nikaido tied up and thrashing on his bed is gorgeous, taking him even higher as Nikaido hits him deep and Senga’s hands start to roam on _him_.

One swipe to the tip of his cock has him arching and snapping up, pulling a garbled noise from Nikaido as he tightens around him. Senga’s panting on the back of his neck, pressing kisses wherever he can reach as he pounds into Nikaido without holding back. Kitayama’s bedposts are shaking as much as the mattress from Nikaido’s struggling; his arms look like they ache at being held up for so long, not to mention what is likely a strong desire to touch one or both of them. He’s not used to being restrained by any means.

“ _Ah_ ,” Kitayama cries out as Senga finally wraps his hand around him, stroking harder and faster than he expects. He’s been on the brink for so long that it doesn’t take much to push him over, a loud moan reverberating in his ears as he jerks on top of Nikaido and spills over Senga’s fingers, a few dabs splattering Nikaido’s chest.

Senga’s right behind him, figuratively and literally, and Kitayama learns why Senga had been so quick to pull him off as he squeezes Kitayama around the waist and groans out his orgasm into his hair. And before Kitayama can get too sensitive, his body clamps down around Nikaido and Nikaido arches with something akin to a howl, pulsing inside Kitayama and falling still, trembling beneath him.

“Mm,” Senga says happily, still hugging Kitayama from behind. “You have the best ideas.”

“Um,” Nikaido mutters pointedly. “Anytime one of you wants to untie me.”

“Okay,” Kitayama replies, making no effort to move from Senga’s warm embrace, and Nikaido glares at them. Coupled with his hooded eyes and flushed face, it’s actually a really cute expression.

Eventually Senga takes pity on Nikaido and gently lowers Kitayama out of the way to get to him, covering Nikaido’s body with his own and kissing him deeply as he stretches his arms up the length of Nikaido’s to untie the silk binds. Nikaido instantly tries to move his arms and winces, but Senga rubs the sore muscles enough for Nikaido to hold onto him, curling up against his body and tangling their limbs together until they’re practically molded into one person.

Kitayama watches them for a while, smiling at how obviously oblivious they are to each other’s true feelings. Someday they will realize it and cut him off, but until that day comes, he’ll make the most out of their time together here in his bed.

“Hey, Ken-chan,” Nikaido says quietly after Kitayama’s eyes slip shut. “You know who would look hot tied up? Gaya.”

Kitayama seethes.

*

“Everybody listen up,” Kitayama says firmly, leaning up on his elbows from where he’s laying on the couch. “We have to make this right, okay? Image is everything.”

“For the last time, I didn’t do it,” Fujigaya growls, looking like he could shoot daggers from his eyes.

“I know you didn’t,” Kitayama tells him, and Fujigaya’s rage switches to surprise. “You’re an idiot and a slut, but you’re not rude. That doesn’t change the public’s perception of us, though.”

“You keep saying ‘us’,” Tamamori points out. “Isn’t this Gaya’s image problem?”

The dagger eyes return, this time aimed at Tamamori, but Kitayama grabs Fujigaya by the collar before he can move. “Taisuke is Kisumai and Kisumai is all of us. If Miyacchi had a scandal, we’d all stand behind him, right?”

Everyone snorts at the concept of Miyata having a scandal, including Kitayama, who loosens his hold on Fujigaya when he’s confident that the other man won’t lunge across the room and strangle their third frontman.

“What can we do?” Senga asks, grin bright, and Kitayama shoots their youngest a grateful look as he pulls out his phone.

“I couldn’t sleep last night, so I jotted down a few ideas—”

“Excuse me, _you_ couldn’t sleep?” Nikaido taunts him.

Kitayama gives him a mocking smile. “Some things are important enough to keep me awake, the fate of this group being one of them. Now we can’t actually bring gifts for the staff-san, but we _can_ be nice to them and go out of our way to make their jobs a little easier, at least until this all dies down.”

“Someone should blow Gaya before every appearance so he’s not such a crabass,” Tamamori suggests.

Senga laughs. “Like an attitude fluffer?”

“I have no problem with this,” Fujigaya offers.

“Or you could just sleep more,” Kitayama says pointedly.

Fujigaya narrows his eyes. “Is this about the competition? Because for a minute there I thought you were actually standing up for me—”

“I am standing up for you, moron,” Kitayama cuts him off. “This has nothing to do with our stupid competition. This is our _job_. If it’ll get you to take better care of yourself, I’ll stop doing it, too.”

Now Fujigaya stares at him. “You would do that for me?”

“It’s not for you,” Kitayama corrects him, staring him straight in his eyes. “It’s for all of us. Everything we do reflects on every single one of us.”

“I’m sorry,” Fujigaya says suddenly, lowering his head. “I made the group look bad.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Kitayama says. “I spend most of my working hours with you, you know. You have your bad days just like anyone else. People just want to start shit and blow things out of proportion.”

“But we can fix it?” Miyata asks hopefully.

“Yes, we can,” Kitayama says, returning to his list. “It’s called running damage control. We’ll have to get approval from the boss, of course, but for now I thought of possible charity appearances, which we should really be doing anyway, maybe something with kids, and failing all of that, a comment from someone who is _not_ Taisuke regarding how generous and caring he is—which he will be—in our next interview.”

He looks up to find six pairs of eyes staring at him in a mixture of awe and surprise. Fujigaya looks like someone has just told him that Kimura Takuya was the second coming of Jesus Christ, and Kitayama is pretty sure that Miyata’s about to cry.

“What?” he asks. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“You _are_ our leader,” Senga says softly.

“You totally are,” Yokoo adds, the first words he’s spoken this whole time.

“ _Somebody_ has to take care of this,” Kitayama says dismissively, looking down at his hands. “I can’t just do nothing and let our reputation get ruined—”

“ _Leader_!” three people yell, and Kitayama finds himself tackled by Senga, Nikaido, and Miyata.

“I’m not the damn leader!” Kitayama yells back, but nobody listens.

When the kouhai clear from his vision, Fujigaya’s looking at him with a devious spark in his eye that Kitayama’s only seen in bed. “You are so the leader right now,” he says clearly, “and it’s _hot_.”

Kitayama blinks and surveys the rest of the room, seeing similar expressions and a few nods on the others. “Wait, really?”

“ _This_ is what I was talking about,” Tamamori says, looking at Kitayama with predatory eyes. “ _This_ is what you needed to do, because I totally want to jump you right now.”

“Ditto,” chorus the other five, including Fujigaya, whom Kitayama stares at in disbelief.

“You’re not even going to fight me for this?” Kitayama asks him.

“I can’t beat leader kink,” Fujigaya says with a shrug. “Congratulations, you’ve finally got your revolution.”

“This revolution should relocate to Mitsu’s place,” Nikaido says bluntly, and Kitayama wouldn’t expect any less from him.

“Didn’t we just say that we were going to stop doing this for awhile?” Kitayama asks, torn between being spoiled and being responsible.

“It doesn’t count if we’re all together,” Fujigaya replies, his logic flawless as usual, “and besides, we don’t have to work tomorrow.”

He may have found it by accident, but a niche is a niche, and when he’s bouncing from the force of Yokoo’s thrusts while Fujigaya rides him and Tamamori swallows his moans with a fist in his hair, Miyata on one side and Nisen curled together on the other, Kitayama finds that he doesn’t much mind being the leader after all, even if that’s the only thing his economics degree is good for these days.

*

Kitayama’s bed is nowhere near big enough for seven people, but that just means they all crash in a big pile of blankets and limbs on the living room floor. It’s ironic that Kitayama has all of his bed warmers back and his bed is _still_ empty, but he can’t really bring himself to mind since he’s on the very bottom of the pile.

“I knew you’d win,” his mother says under her breath as she hides her son’s laundry in his closet so that nobody will know that she still washes it for him. Then she smiles at the peacefully sleeping boys, cleans up a bit, and leaves some homemade dishes in the fridge.

She also adds ‘condoms’ to her shopping list, because you can never be too careful.


End file.
